


If The Sun Comes Up

by dear_monday



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Early Days, First Times, M/M, Oral Fixation, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is the reason why Frank is here at ass o' clock in the morning to get the set for their first real video finished a day early while Mikey and Ray and Otter are all catching up on precious sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If The Sun Comes Up

Frank is that particular kind of wide-awake-tired that only happens on the wrong side of 3AM. He aims a lazy kick at his empty paint pot, pushing it in the vague direction of the stack of empties in the corner. He cracks a new can open, a fresh surge of that thick, sharp smell washing over him. His head is swimming with the fumes; it's a good thing Gerard's artistic vision doesn't require him to do anything more complicated than cover the flimsy plywood walls with black. He dips his brush and watches the thick, sticky black paint dripping slowly from the bristles. His arms and shoulders ache from carrying the paint cans the whole way from Home Depot because Gerard's piece-of-shit car has broken down for the second time this week.  
  
"Frank? You okay, dude?"  
  
"'M good, man," Frank says, dragging the first thick black stripe down the last completely beige panel. He looks back over his shoulder at Gerard, standing on the ratty old bed sheets covering the floor, his hair greasy and sticking up chaotically where he's been pushing it back off his face. He's pale, and there are heavy sweeps of shadow under his eyes, but his grin is wide and wild and he's crackling with excitement. Frank imagines he can smell it in the air, fizzy and sweet. It's probably just the paint fumes getting to him.  
  
"I can't believe this is _happening_ ," Gerard says for the hundredth time. He looks all of eight years old, bundled into a ratty, stretched-out hoodie despite the suffocating heat, too hyped up to stand still. Frank feels a sudden surge of affection for the dork. "Dude, a _video_. A motherfucking _video_. It's like we're a real band now, you know?"  
  
"Pencey never got to make a video, asshole. You saying we weren't a real band?" Frank flicks paint at him, but Gerard's excitement is contagious. His cheek and his nose are speckled with paint, and Frank has a brief, fuzzy moment when he thinks about licking it off. Shit, between the tired-not-tired and the fumes thickening the air, he's more out of it than he thought. Everything is razor-sharp and soft-sleepy-warm, both at once.  
  
Gerard turns back to the wall he's working on, still smiling. Frank does the same, swaying on his feet a little. He's feeling kind of lightheaded. That fifth red bull was probably a bad decision. He daubs more paint onto the wall, spreading it out from the edges to get it even. His arm cramps up and he balances his brush on top of the open can by his feet, watching paint drip onto the sheet as he stretches out. He pads over to stand behind Gerard, who's completely absorbed in his work. His eyes are narrowed, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth just like it does when he draws. He puts everything into his art, whether it's a quick sketch of Mikey or a carefully inked superhero or a doodle on the back of a 7-11 receipt or even just paint on a wall. There's a tiny, awful part of Frank that's so, so fucking glad Cartoon Network pissed all over Gerard's dreams. Gerard is nine kinds of genuinely, blindingly amazing. Frank feels like the luckiest motherfucker on the planet just to know him, let alone be in his band.  
  
Frank reaches out and pinches the soft flesh of Gerard's side through his hoodie, making Gerard squawk and drop his brush on his foot.  
  
"Fucker," Gerard grouses, making no move to pick it up or wipe the paint off his shoe. Frank hooks his chin over Gerard's shoulder and wraps his arms around Gerard's waist, nuzzling at the side of his neck. Gerard is the reason why Frank is here at ass o' clock in the morning to get the set finished a day early while Mikey and Ray and Otter are all catching up on precious sleep. The _least_ Gerard can do is let Frank use him as a human pillow for a minute or two. Anyway, Gerard knows Frank gets handsy when he's stoned, so he doesn't get all weird and twitchy anymore when Frank invades his personal space like he did the first time it happened. He just leans back into Frank, warm and familiar and _home_.  
  
"A motherfucking video," Frank says softly. They've all said those same three words so many times since they found out that it's more like a prayer than actual words, just syllables repeated into meaninglessness.  
  
"Yeah," Gerard agrees, quiet and awed. "Shit. We're actually doing this. We're gonna make it."  
  
They stand there like that for a long moment, Gerard's head resting against Frank's.  
  
"Oh my god, we're actually watching paint dry," Gerard mumbles eventually, with a weak gurgle of laughter. "Can you be disqualified from being in a rock band for being too lame?"  
  
"Your face is too lame," Frank says automatically. The world is going soft around the edges, the paint fumes seeping into everything and making it hard to think straight.  
  
"Your _hair_ is too lame."  
  
Frank unwraps one of his arms from around Gerard's belly and pets his own dreads reassuringly. Gerard doesn't know what he's talking about. Frank is totally rocking the dreads. And anyway, Gerard's hair looks like the monster from the black lagoon or something. Frank's pretty sure that means he forfeits his right to judge other people's.  
  
"What if," Frank says intelligently. "What if you had your hair cut by a sea monster."  
  
Gerard considers it for a long moment. Frank can't really see, but he's sure Gerard is making that face where his mouth twists to one side and his eyes get kind of squinty.  
  
"Badass," he says eventually. "If it had tentacles it could, like, hold a bunch of scissors at once."  
  
"Dude. If you draw that for me, I'll get it as my next tatt."  
  
"Sweet."  
  
Frank hums contentedly and buries his face in Gerard's neck. Out of all the people who are willing to put up with Frank hanging all over them, Gerard is totally his first choice of cuddle buddy. Gerard is soft and squishy and warm like a fucking human space heater, and exactly the right size. Frank's thoughts are slow and sluggish, like bubbles in syrup. The single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling casts a weak, dim light over everything and the room is stuffy and windowless and too goddamn hot, but Frank is just too comfortable to move.  
  
"A motherfucking video," Gerard says. "You think we're really gonna make it?"  
  
"Yes," says Frank immediately. They've got _Gerard_. He doesn't doubt it for a moment. He ducks down and dips his fingertips into the paint, pulling Gerard around to face him. "I promise," he says. "Cross your heart and hope to die." He reaches out and draws a lopsided X on Gerard's chest.  
  
Gerard frowns at the paint on his hoodie. "Aren't you meant to cross your own heart?"  
  
Frank peels off his sweat-sticky t-shirt and drops it on the floor. He dips his fingers back into the paint and draws another X, this time on his own bare chest. "Cross _my_ heart," he amends. He watches Gerard's eyes skim down from the paint to Frank's treasure trail, and from there to where Frank's jeans are digging into his fleshy hips. Frank's stomach twists. It's been too long since he got laid. Getting ready to make a motherfucking video hasn't left him much time for anything resembling a relationship. Frank has his exceptions, but picking up random strangers for a quick fuck isn't his style, and it's beginning to get to him.  
  
He reaches out and tugs at the hem of Gerard's hoodie. "Dude. Aren't you fucking baking alive in that thing?"  
  
Gerard's cheeks are a little pink, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead, but he shakes his head. Gerard is fucking stubborn when he wants to be. He's also not going to be any good to anyone if he passes the fuck out in here and asphyxiates on paint fumes. Frank already has a head full of whatever chemicals are in that shit, so he picks up the paint can, sticks his whole hand in and flicks it at Gerard. Gerard fucking _squeals_ and makes an abortive attempt to jump back, and Frank cackles.  
  
"Ruined," he says triumphantly. "Now you have to take it off."  
  
Gerard fiddles uncomfortably with the ripped end of one of his sleeves.  
  
"Come _on_ ," Frank says. "Dude, I just don't want you to pass out and die, that's all. Anyway, I showed you mine." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at Gerard, who rolls his own eyes at Frank's unparalleled lameness but reluctantly strips out of his hoodie. Underneath, he's wearing a faded t-shirt with dark sweat marks under the arms. He must have been _dying_ in that fucking hoodie. Gerard is one weird dude.  
  
"See?" says Frank encouragingly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He reaches out to pat Gerard's shoulder, but his head is spinning and his palm sort of lands on Gerard's neck instead. He leaves it there. Gerard's skin feels nice, warm and smooth.  
  
"Um," says Gerard. He stands there in his gross, sweaty t-shirt, his face paint-splattered, the dim light casting him in soft, fuzzy shadows.  
  
"You feel nice," Frank says sincerely. He doesn't mean anything by it, he's just tired and high as fuck and Gerard's neck just happens to be where his hand is right now.  
  
But then Gerard licks his lips. And - oh. _Oh_. It's like Gerard has hit Frank's tripswitch, and the sudden gear change makes Frank dizzy. It seems kind of obvious now. Gerard is warm and wide-eyed and open-mouthed and _there_ , and Frank is-- well. Frank's only human and Gerard has been right at the top of Frank's list of exceptions since the day they met.  
  
The kiss is slow and messy, tongues and teeth and one of Gerard's hands sliding up Frank's bare back and pulling him close. Frank lets himself sink into it, the feeling of another body pressed up against his and a hand cupping his jaw. He licks into Gerard's mouth, lazy and unhurried, and Gerard opens up for him with a low, pleased noise.  
  
Gerard gets his hand into Frank's dreads and tugs at them. "Your hair really is lame," he mumbles around Frank's tongue, and Frank slips his hand under Gerard's t-shirt in retaliation. Gerard is soft around his belly and his hips and thighs, and Frank knows Gerard is kind of self-conscious about it, but he has a totally creepy and not-at-all-platonic thing about Gerard's chub. It gives a little under Frank's fingers and he wants to run his hands all over Gerard, memories the places where his hands sink in.  
  
He's distantly aware that this isn't a thing that they do. They joke about it, sure, but that's all. Now, though, he's in this warm, hazy place where it couldn't matter less. Maybe the paint fumes really _are_ getting to him and they do this all the time. He doesn't know, and more importantly he doesn't care. There's nothing rushed or urgent about it, just Gerard kissing him back, hot and slow.  
  
Frank starts to pull Gerard's t-shirt up, but Gerard makes a little anxious noise. "C'mon," Frank wheedles. "Just wanna see you, that's all. Please?" On a hunch, he trails his mouth down the side of Gerard's neck, kissing and nipping.  
  
Frank's hunches are never wrong. Gerard moans, loud and sudden like it was startled out of him, and lets Frank tug his shirt up and over his head. Frank starts kissing him again before the shirt has even hit the floor, not giving Gerard time to freak out. Frank just can't stop touching him.  
  
"You should just be naked all the time," Frank says happily, running one hand down Gerard's side and giving the softness of his hip a squeeze. "Like, _all the time_. On all our album covers. And on stage."  
  
Gerard pulls back, a little frown creasing his forehead. "You're making fun of me," he says.  
  
"What? Oh, for..." Frank groans, and reels him in again. " _What_ ," he says between kisses, "is it gonna take for you to believe it when someone tells you you're fuckin' gorgeous?"  
  
The paint fumes are loosening Frank's tongue, but he means what he said. Gerard _is_ gorgeous, too fucking pretty to be real, and he writes songs that cut right through Frank and he sings like his own words are tearing him apart. And-- okay. Frank's had this totally stupid, starstruck crush on him since the first time he saw Gerard get up on stage and transform instantly from a shy, nerdy dude into this fucking force of nature, but there's no need for Gerard to find out about that. Frank will take whatever he can get from Gerard. If that's just being his friend, his bandmate, that's more than enough. If that's a one-off makeout session because they're both high and horny and hyped up on the excitement of getting to make a motherfucking video, then Frank will thank his lucky stars but won't ask for more.  
  
And then Gerard groans and rolls his hips against Frank's, and Frank can feel his hard-on through his jeans.  
  
"Fuck," he says weakly. "Oh shit, Frank, 'm sorry..."  
  
Frank ignores him in favor of grabbing Gerard's ass and pulling him even closer. Apologies are a total buzz-kill. And even through the haze of paint fumes fogging his brain, he can't see why getting turned on by kissing someone is something to apologize for. Frank thinks it's pretty fucking hot, knowing that _he_ was the one who did that to Gerard. He grinds against Gerard, slow and deliciously dirty, his own dick starting to take an interest.  
  
Gerard is making thin, wanting noises and rutting against Frank's thigh. He feels fucking amazing, hot and solid, broad shoulders and big hands cupping Frank's face and his ass. Frank leans into the touch eagerly, wrapping himself around Gerard and kissing him deep and dirty. He's in no hurry for this to escalate - just making out and having a warm body to rub up against is more than he's had in months, more than enough because it's _Gerard_.  
  
"Frank," Gerard says, and the almost-pleading edge to his voice goes straight to Frank's head.  
  
"Ssh," croons Frank. "You're good, I've got you. You gonna let me jack you off?"  
  
Gerard nods eagerly and Frank goes for his belt buckle. Fucking Gerard and his stupid fucking bat buckle, seriously, who even _has_ one of those things? Frank's hands are unsteady and his fingers feel stiff and clumsy, but he finally manages to get the goddamn thing open and hook his thumbs into the waistband of Gerard's boxers.  
  
Frank has to stop for a moment, just to look. Gerard's cock is straining against the cotton, a wet spot of precome already seeping through. That was _Frank_. Gerard is hard and ready from nothing more than making out and some harmless groping, and that thought alone is enough to make Frank's own dick twitch in his jeans. Fuck. He's so utterly, hopelessly gone for this guy. He pretty much knew that already, but the sheer force of it hits him right between the eyes and leaves him stunned.  
  
Gerard is still standing there, looking a little puzzled, that uncertain frown settling on his face again. Frank leans in and kisses him again to reassure him, then slowly runs his hand down over Gerard's soft belly and palms his hard-on through his boxers. Gerard moans again - seriously, he _must_ know what that does to Frank - and bucks against Frank's hand. Frank goes back to Gerard's flushed, exposed neck, reveling in the soft, raw noises he makes whenever Frank's teeth graze his skin. While Gerard is too distracted to freak out again, Frank tugs Gerard's boxers down with the hand not buried in Gerard's hair. Gerard makes a noise stuck between a whimper and a groan when Frank finally gets a hand around his cock, and rocks forward into Frank's hand.  
  
"Good?" Frank asks, a little breathless himself because - fuck. Gerard is totally fucking hung and Frank's stupid brain is already stumbling on ahead of itself and planning all the next-times that probably aren't even going to happen. Frank mouths at Gerard's collarbone, then runs his thumb through the precome gathering at the tip of Gerard's cock. It makes the slide slicker, sweeter, and Gerard groans.  
  
"Good," he pants. "Fucking _fuck_ , Frank, you--" he trails off with a gasp as Frank switches to shorter, quicker strokes. Gerard's eyes are closed, his mouth wet and open, his hair a tangled halo around his face and Frank has to bury his own face in Gerard's neck to stop himself saying something stupid.  
  
"I want..." Gerard says indistinctly, and Frank groans involuntarily at how fucking needy he sounds, practically begging.  
  
"You wanna come?" he asks, his own cock achingly hard and throbbing in his jeans, and he feels rather than sees Gerard nod jerkily. Frank tightens the circle of his own fingers around Gerard's dick, just a little, and picks up his pace again. Gerard is making little, desperate noises, a rising _ah, ah, ah_ that Frank's inner creepy sleazebag totally files away in his spank bank.  
  
Then Gerard thrusts into Frank's hand one more time, lets out a broken moan and comes hot and slick over Frank's fingers. Frank keeps jacking him until he's whimpering and oversensitive, then darts a glance up at Gerard's flushed, fucked-out face. Gerard raises one hand and strokes Frank's cheek, staring at him with big, glazed eyes. Staring at _Frank_ as if he's something rare and gorgeous. Frank's stomach twists, and he looks away.  
  
"Hey," says Gerard softly, pressing a quick kiss to Frank's temple. "C'mon, I wanna..."  
  
Frank doesn't know what Gerard wants, but he lets Gerard maneuver him down onto the floor so he's sitting with his legs splayed out and Gerard kneeling between them. Gerard's brow furrows in concentration in this ridiculously endearing way as he struggles with Frank's jeans, and Frank bites his tongue.  
  
Finally, Gerard manages to get Frank's jeans open, and Frank's really, really glad he went commando today. It's a total time-saver. Gerard wraps his hand around Frank's dick and gives him a couple of quick strokes, and the relief is so good Frank could fucking cry. Then Gerard looks up at him, still pink-flushed and breathing hard, his hair a mess and his jeans still down around his thighs and, god, he's fucking - Frank doesn't even have the words anymore.  
  
"Uh," Gerard says, looking down at the chipped black polish on his nails and glancing up at Frank though lowered lashes, suddenly all shy. "I kind of wanna suck you off, if that's cool with you. It's sort of a... thing for me, you know?"  
  
Frank nearly chokes on his own spit, because - seriously, only Gerard. "No," he manages, the tiny part of his brain that's still functioning screaming _I knew it, I totally fucking knew it!_ Frank has noticed (god, has he noticed) the way Gerard chews the ends of pens and pencils to shreds, bites his nails, bites his lip. Noticed, and maybe speculated that Gerard really, really likes having his mouth full. Frank feels kind of vindicated, because he's not a dirty perv if it's true, right? "No," he clarifies. "I'm totally cool if you wanna blow me."  
  
One corner of Gerard's mouth curls up a little, and wow, Frank's never going to see that particular smile in the same way ever again. "Okay," he says. "I - okay. Awesome."  
  
Frank can't think, can barely even breathe. Gerard fidgets around a little on the paint-spattered sheet, getting comfortable, then just ducks his head and goes down. And down, and down, and - "Jesus _fuck_ , dude," Frank says weakly, awed. "You kept that quiet, when were you gonna tell me about your double life as a pornstar? It's like-- oh my _god_ , it's like you don't even _have_ a goddamn gag reflex."  
  
Gerard makes a contented humming noise, his mouth wet and hot around Frank's dick, his lips pink and spit-slick and the tip of his nose nudging against Frank's belly. Frank doesn't want to blink, wants to drink in every fucking detail of this and remember it as long as he lives. Gerard looks totally blissed out, lost in the slow, sloppy slide of sucking Frank off. The way he's moving is almost lazy, licking at the underside of Frank's cock and making him moan and curse. Gerard pulls up a little, and Frank's breath catches at the sight of Gerard's gorgeous mouth stretched around his cock, hard and flushed and shiny-slick with Gerard's spit. He makes an involuntary noise, and his fingers clench in the sheet underneath him. Fuck, he's not going to last.  
  
Gerard sinks down again, his own hands hovering in mid-air like he's so overwhelmed he doesn't even know what to do with them. Frank groans, bucking reflexively up into Gerard's mouth. Gerard gags and waves Frank's apology away, sucking greedily, and Frank's stomach drops.  
  
"Gee," his says urgently. "Gee, fucking-- pull off, I'm gonna come."  
  
But Gerard just looks up at him with hot, dark eyes and tongues at Frank's slit. It's too much, and Frank lets out a choked half-shout and arches up, spilling into Gerard's mouth, his fucking toes curling with how good it is. Frank sees Gerard's throat ripple as he swallows like it's no big deal at all and lets Frank's cock slip out of his mouth.  
  
"You," Frank says, as soon as he's recovered enough to form coherent sentences again. "Are way too good at that. Like. That should be illegal. Fucking hell."  
  
Gerard fucking giggles, his stupid pot laugh unraveling something in Frank. "Thanks," he says, his voice rough and wrecked.  
  
Silence falls, and Frank's heart sinks. If Gerard wants to forget this ever happened, it'll fucking suck, but Frank can deal. If Gerard freaks out and shit gets awkward and the band falls apart... god, Frank can't even imagine. Just the thought of it feels like the end of the world. This is ridiculous; Frank still has the dude's jizz on his hand, half-dry by now, but he can't meet his eyes. Frank clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "Are we..."  
  
Gerard looks at him, his head on one side. Having him right there and positively radiating afterglow and contentment isn't making this any easier. Frank waits for him to get it, but Gerard doesn't say a word.  
  
"Are we okay?" Frank says eventually, forcing himself to look at Gerard. His heart is kicking in his chest, so loud he's sure Gerard must be able to hear it. Apparently this means a lot more to Frank than he realized. He is so fucked. "I mean," he says, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I mean, we don't have to... like, I get it if you just wanna-- mmfh!"  
  
Frank never finishes that sentence, because Gerard suddenly lunges forward, gets his hands on either side of Frank's face and kisses the fuck out of him. It's messy and artless and honest, and that's what does it for Frank. He can taste himself in Gerard's mouth, and the jury's still out on whether that's seriously gross or just unbelievably hot. Frank goes for Gerard's ass again, grabbing at it unashamedly and whimpering a little when he feels his fingers sink in. Gerard makes an answering noise and leans into Frank, toppling both of them backwards onto the sheet. The feeling of being pinned down by Gerard's warm weight on top of him coupled with the way Gerard is grinding down a little is sending confused, electric flares of sensation up Frank's spine, and it feels _awesome_.  
  
"Uh," Gerard says, breaking the kiss but not getting up from on top of Frank. "Sorry? I just had to... yeah. We're okay - I mean, I think? I want us to be okay." His face squinches up unhappily. "Shit, I'm fucking this up so bad. Hey! Stop laughing at me, fucker!"  
  
"Sorry," Frank says, unapologetically. Relief is making him feel dizzy and light-headed. _They're okay_. Gerard is still pouting, so Frank wraps his arms around him and clings until Gerard starts laughing too, his face pressed into Frank's dreads.  
  
They'll have to get up soon and finish painting the set, but - not yet. Frank nuzzles into Gerard's neck and thinks, _five more minutes._


End file.
